Chain of Secrets

by Jaleta Clegg

  The animals settled for the night, still nervous at his presence in their midst. He ignored them, watching a strip of sky visible through the door of the barn.

  The clear weather was a boon. It was cold, but the sunlight had warmed the ground enough to clear most of the snow. He wouldn't leave obvious tracks, if he were careful. He waited, watching for the blue of the sky to fade to black and for the stars to appear overhead.

  He heard the farmer come outside. The door to the outhouse creaked open. A few minutes later he heard it bang shut again. The door to the barn was pulled open. They were checking on him, he knew. He feigned sleep. The barn door shut again. He heard the latch swing down into its slot on the outer door.

  Jhon let his lip curl in a sneer. Stupid farmer.

  He waited a while longer, until the night outside was deep and quiet. He moved stealthily, slipping around the animals.

  He climbed to the small hatch overhead, the one for loading hay into the loft. He wasn't allowed up there, but that hadn't stopped him from exploring the space. The farmer had lists of rules that Jhon had nodded and seemed to accept sincerely. He'd broken almost all of them the first night.

  Three days here was long enough. He popped the hatch open and climbed out, lowering himself to the ground. The hatch swung shut behind him. He headed into the woods, walking quietly, careful to leave no trace.

  He moved with the night, ghosting his way down the trail back to the village. Everyone slept, secure behind their thick walls. A dog barked somewhere inside a cabin as he crossed the wide space at the center of the village. He moved faster, almost running into the forest before the dog woke someone. The trails became less traveled, harder to see the farther he went. It was almost morning before he ran out of trail. He paused by a half frozen stream to drink and get his bearings. He found the direction he needed to go and started walking again.

  Three days travel could be cut to one if he kept pushing. He found his way to the top of a knoll of rock and scouted the area around him, comparing it to the memorized maps in his head. He was luckier than he anticipated. The end of the rail line was not too far away. He should reach it by nightfall.

  He hiked through a day that was cold but bright with sunshine. Clouds massed to the north. Good weather would not last too much longer.

  He walked swiftly down the side of the ridge and into a narrow valley. It led where he wanted to go. He drank from the icy stream at the bottom of the canyon. His body demanded food. He ignored it. He was stronger than that.

  He kept to his punishing pace as the sun passed overhead. It was late afternoon when he finally reached the snaking valley covered with trees he had been aiming for. He turned downhill, following the valley as it widened out and flattened.

  He came to an area where trees had been cleared at one time. The ground was littered with downed trees. New growth had taken root. Trees thirty years old reached for the sky through the bones of their ancestors. He was in the right place.

  He kept going as the sun stretched shadows across the valley through the leafless trees. He stumbled over the first of the metal rails. Long tufts of dead grass covered them, hiding them from sight. He kicked a section free, noting which direction they ran. He was almost there.

  He jogged along the old tracks. He rounded a bend in the canyon and saw the ruin of an old shack. He allowed himself a small smile of triumph as he kicked in the rotted door.

  The equipment was in shambles, ruined by rain and weather and the depredations of small animals. It didn't bother Jhon. He knew of the other stash, the secret one hidden here only a few years ago. He dug through the litter in one corner until he exposed a narrow hatch in the floor. The hinges squealed in protest when he jerked it open.

  The space revealed was lined in stone, its contents protected from the elements, unlike the equipment in the hut. Jhon lifted out a metal case and set it to one side. He flipped the latches on the case, dialing in the sequence that would safely unlock it. The lid opened with a hiss.

  The first box contained some food, the emergency ration bars spaceships carried, a few pouches of water and a basic med kit. The second one held an old com set. He pulled it out, opened it, then turned it on and waited for the batteries to decide they had enough power to run it. He set the dials and sent out a pulse. The response didn't come.

  He frowned, angry at the delay. He gathered up some of the food and the com unit. It must not have the range to penetrate out of the canyon.

  He ate the ration bar as he carried the com unit up the east slope of the canyon. The top of the ridge was clear. He set the unit on a rock where the last rays of the setting sun painted it red. He flipped the unit on again and waited impatiently for it to warm up.

  He sent out another pulse, keying it to the frequency and the code that Kuran's personal agents used. He waited ten minutes then sent it again. The sun slipped under the horizon, across the jagged lines of mountains. A cold wind tugged at Jhon before stilling. A bird shrilled alarm. Night dropped, thick and dark and cold over the mountain. Jhon crouched in front of the com unit, sending the coded pulse every ten minutes.

  The answer came an hour later, a burst of clicking that caught him by surprise. He keyed in the frequency and scrambler code the clicking indicated.

  "Who is this?" an authoritative voice crackled from the unit's speakers threaded with a lot of static and interference.

  "Agent three eight nine," Jhon replied. He waited for the static to clear again.

  A different voice answered, the crisp tones of Kuran were unmistakable. "You're overdue to report."

  "It's been difficult. She managed to elude me, sir. The woman is no threat, though. She never has been."

  "On the contrary," Kuran corrected him. "The woman is very dangerous. She needs to be eliminated. Immediately."

  Jhon snapped to attention. Something big had happened. "Sir? The static is bad. Please repeat."

  "Eliminate her," Kuran's voice snarled from the speakers.

  "There is a whole settlement of rebels here in the mountains," Jhon said after a pause. "It may be difficult to find her."

  "The rebels will be dealt with." The connection was severed with a snap of static.

  Jhon crouched over the com unit, thinking deeply. Kuran must be planning on sending the military out to deal with the unauthorized settlements. Not wise, Jhon thought to himself. Kuran would find out soon enough.

  On impulse, Jhon switched the com unit through several channels. Tivor's official broadcasting service had been shut down some months previously. He got nothing but static, except for one channel. He picked up the tail end of a Patrol communication. He cocked his head, squinting to concentrate on the voices buried in the static.

  A smile spread over his face. The Patrol was leaving, evacuating their base. So, Potokos must have finally made his decision. Tivor was no longer part of the Empire, for all practical intents and purposes. He wondered if the Patrol would put up a fight. He almost hoped they would. There were plenty of opportunities for an ambitious man when times were unsettled.

  He chuckled over that thought. Times were more than unsettled. He could almost smell the violence in the air. Tivor was going to erupt in war. Despite Kuran's efforts and Potokos' posturing.

  He straightened, abandoning the com unit on the ridge. He could always come back for it when he was through. Kuran had told him to kill Dace. He could ignore the order, heading for the city and the opportunities he knew waited for him. But revenge on Dace would be a personal pleasure.

  He turned back to the mountain, studying its spreading flanks. She was up there somewhere, near the village where they'd been taken. A few days and he would have her in his power. He could almost hear her screams, taste her fear. He'd spend a pleasurable few hours breaking her before he killed her.

  A few more days and he would be back in Milaga, ready to taste more blood. He took a deep breath of the cold air. Not since he'd been given the task of cleaning up a ring of prostitutes had he felt this alive. He let
himself remember their screams as he went back to the shack for the food cache. Yes, that had been a good time. But this promised to be better.

  Chapter 17

  "You knew her," I said. I didn't know whether to be bitter, angry, or relieved.

  Tunisia nodded her head. Tears sparkled among the wrinkles. She fingered the nuts still spread over her lap. "I haven't heard her name for years. She died."

  "Twenty four years ago," I said.

  "She was my daughter, child of my heart."

  That shocked me to silence. Tunisia was my grandmother. My universe shifted, spinning in directions I'd never dreamed could exist. I'd gone from an orphan with no one to having my own family. I'd found my father several years ago. And now I'd found a grandmother I'd never even thought about. I felt twisted inside, as if I were suddenly a stranger to myself.

  Tunisia stared across the garden, lost in memory. I sat back in the chair, huddling into myself. The warmth of the sun was illusory. The wind was full of the breath of winter.

  "Then you're my granddaughter," Tunisia said suddenly. "You remind me of her, in some ways, but she wasn't strong. She was weak."

  I wasn't ready to hear it. My mother had loved my father. She'd risked her life to marry him. I didn't know how to speak up, to defend the mother I thought I knew.

  "I knew nothing good would come of her slipping to the city. I told her that her life was here, in the mountains. It was in her blood. She never believed me." Tunisia talked softly, almost to herself. "It was in her blood."

  She fell silent, wiping absently at the tears on her face. The birds in the tree shrilled then went silent.

  "Tell me. Please. I know almost nothing of her."

  "Or your father?" Tunisia asked sharply. "Offworlder seduced my daughter. He took advantage of her innocence and then left her expecting a child."

  I shook my head in denial. "He loved her."

  "Foolish belief of a child. What nonsense did she fill your head with?"

  "I barely remember her." Tears of my own stung my eyes.

  "Then what do you know of her and your father? He seduced her."

  "He married her."

  Tunisia sat as if frozen. I ducked my head trying unsuccessfully to hide my tears. I swiped them off my cheek with one hand.

  "How do you know? She came crawling back here after only six months, begging me to take her in. It was obvious soon enough she was expecting a child. She would only say he was Patrol." Tunisia almost spat it at me. "You've followed in your father's footsteps. Patrol. No honor or decency."

  "There's more honor in the Patrol than here," I said angrily. "They don't take refugees and make them slaves."

  "A slave, are you? I give you a roof, shelter and food, and a chance to be free. You have to earn it."

  "You're right, I've been a slave before. This isn't nearly as bad."

  She stared at me, searching for truth in my words. I sighed heavily, letting the anger flow away. It proved nothing. And helped no one. I looked away from her, watching the trees dip and whisper to the cold breeze.

  "Darus Venn tried to get her off Tivor," I said. "He did everything he could. They blocked him and kept her here."

  "You know him? If he cared he would have taken you. They couldn't have stopped him."

  "He never knew. Until about three years ago. I'd already found my own way off Tivor by then."

  "Why did you come back?"

  "Because I wasn't given a choice. I wasn't lying about that."

  "You were sent here to start a civil war," she said, as if she couldn't believe it.

  "My mother started one."

  Tunisia shook her head. "She took you to Milaga to ask for food. The winter was hard, and the five before that. We were starving. But they were starving in the city, too. The government came and took whatever food we had. They killed half the villagers. We moved farther up, into hiding. Liri did that to us. She revealed our existence to the government."

  "Why was I left at the orphanage?"

  "Why didn't I come claim you? A half offworld bastard child?" Tunisia shook her head. "It was too risky. They thought we were gone, killed by their soldiers. Liri wouldn't leave you here. She insisted on taking you with her. You were such a solemn baby, with your big eyes. You never smiled."

  That hadn't changed much. "They were married," I insisted. I wasn't illegitimate. I'd spent too many years enduring the taunts of the other children at the orphanage about my parents. I wasn't going to allow my grandmother to smirch that. I knew differently. "Darus is not the kind of person to seduce anyone."

  "He's a man, like all of them." She cut me off. I sensed a buried hurt, deeper and older than any my birth had caused. "There's work to be done," she said, dumping her lapful of nuts into the basket. "Chop wood," she ordered.

  She went into the hut. I watched her go. What would she do if I refused to chop wood? What else would I do? I gathered up the nuts and shells and put the baskets on the stoop of the cabin. I shifted the chairs over and left them beside the nuts.

  I chopped wood, though my shoulders screamed with the effort and my hands blistered and bled. She was my grandmother, this wrinkled witch of the woods. As I split logs, I realized I was a lot like her. She was stubborn, closed within herself. I wondered what hurts and secrets she hid.

  I was never going to get free of Tivor again. I might as well make peace with her. I could almost learn to live here. I could almost see myself in her face. Would I grow old and wrinkled here? Alone? I stopped to wipe tears and sweat from suddenly blurred eyes. I looked up, to the wide open blue sky. No, I wasn't going to stay here. I wasn't going to grow old here. I was going to fly again.

  I swung the axe at the wood. For now, I'd make my peace with my grandmother. And I'd see what chance I had of getting free, of convincing her to let me go. I could get to Milaga and claim sanctuary at the Patrol base.

  I would fail at my mission. I wondered if Lowell had known that when he sent me here. Had he sent me to Tivor for myself? I'd wanted to die after Tayvis did. Lowell had kept me alive, but he knew I would never heal alone. He knew me better than anyone. So why send me here rather than back to Jasyn? Why use me this way?

  Because he had to. The answer stared me in the face. Lowell's network of contacts was fractured, broken after he had been framed for treason. He'd been cleared, along with me and the rest of my friends. The real traitor, the Emperor's cousin, was in prison. Or was he the real traitor? Snippets of information I'd heard but ignored when I'd been on Lowell's ship floated through my memory connecting with each other.

  The Empire was falling apart. The Federation was stealing systems and power. Lowell was desperate to hold it together. Tivor was a key piece. He'd sent me because he had to. He couldn't afford to lose Tivor. He hadn't known that I was useless here.

  I smiled bitterly at that thought. The axe bit deep into another log.

  Lowell had promised me a Fleet in three months. Now I doubted they'd be coming. The Patrol wouldn't take over. Tivor was worthless. I was back to the thought that I was stuck here.

  I had to convince Tunisia to help me. Soon. Before the Patrol pulled out. I had no idea how to even begin to convince her. She was tough, tougher than anyone I'd ever met, including Lady Rina.

  She limped outside after a while. She stood watching me split logs. I wasn't very adept at it. My hands left traces of blood on the axe handle.

  "Enough," she finally said. "Come inside." She turned her back on me.

  I watched her walk away. Her back was hunched inside the shapeless dress she wore. I could see where my short stature had come from, at least partly. Darus was pretty short, too. She rounded the corner of the cabin. I looked down at the chips of wood around my feet.

  What was the point?

  She came back, the pot of cream in one hand. She wordlessly wiped it over the blisters on my hands. She took the axe and went back inside.

  I gathered up the chips of wood, tossing them into the bin where they were stored. I brought an
armful of split logs inside with me.

  The cabin was warm with the yellow light of the candle and the heat of the fire. I put the stack of logs near the fireplace. A pot simmered over the fire, releasing good smells into the air.

  "What should I call you?" Tunisia asked. "You said your name was Dace."

  I shrugged. It didn't matter what she called me. She bustled around, setting battered dishes on the table.

  "Your mother called you Squiggums," she said. "When you were barely old enough to wiggle. I told her it was a silly name. She didn't listen to me. She never listened to me."

  "What did you call me?" I asked, touched by the sadness I read in her wrinkled face.

  "Esthie. Zeresthina was too much of a mouthful. I asked your mother what she was thinking, giving you a name like that. She never told me."

  "It was my other grandmother's name."

  She paused, her hand holding a spoon over the pot on the fire. She deliberately dipped the spoon in and stirred.

  "What is she like?" She asked it as if she shot a weapon. She wanted to hurt me, to share the hurt she felt.

  "I don't know. As far as I know, she died a long time ago."

  "Your father never told you?"

  I shook my head. "He was an only child. He doesn't talk much about his parents. He changed the subject every time I asked."

  "You spend a lot of time with him?" The hurt was still in her voice.

  "We spent two weeks together, on Parrus." I heard the wistfulness in my voice as I remembered. That had been a good time. One of the few in my life. "I only see him now and then, for an hour or two."

  "Your career in the Patrol keeps you busy?" I heard the disdain in her voice.

  "It isn't what you think." I sat tiredly in a chair.

  "Admiral in the Patrol, you said. What's your father? A Sector Commander?"

  I winced. That was Tayvis' rank. It had been his rank.

  She slopped stew into the plates then sat in her own chair. I stared down at my bowl. Shadowy lumps poked out of thin broth. The candlelight wasn't very bright. And my eyes were blurred with tears again.